written in these ashes (dancing in the wind)
by MirrorShard
Summary: S04 AU: That's the thing about being a doppelganger: there's always someone else paying for your mistake. Kol/Elena


**Note: **This is part of the Red Series, a couple of unrelated One Shots set in an universe where the Elena/Caroline/Bonnie friendship went much deeper than in canon. This one explores a possible way how their friendship might have ended and focuses a lot on the relationship between Jeremy and Elena instead.

**Warning:** AU. Character Death. Angst. Also the exploration of an unhealthy relationship though NOT one where there's one victim and one abuser but instead one where two people tear each other apart, repeatedly.

**Pairing:** Kol/Elena; lots of Elena/Jeremy bromance

**English is not my native language. I apologize for any mistake in advance.**

* * *

**_| written in these ashes (dancing in the wind) |_**

* * *

We shall show mercy but we shall not ask for it

—Winston Churchill

* * *

**Part I**

It's not easy to kill an Original. Elena would know. But _not easy_ isn't _impossible_ and really, if you think about it that might be a small difference but it leaves a lot of uncovered ground. So perhaps a baby vampire and a barely trained hunter are no true match for most vampires, never mind one with a thousand years of experience. Nobody's gonna tell you different. In fact, if you stop for just a moment to think about it even all of them together—the whole misfit Mystic Falls Gang—are no match for a Mikaelson, least of all four of them.

And they know it.

Everyone does.

It's what makes her plan_ not easy_ instead of _impossible_. _Insane _instead of _suicidal_.

Because at the end of the day it takes armies and elaborate plans and brilliant strategies to bring a mighty leader down. It takes time and deviousness and trickery and secret weapons and lots of other things they don't have. And that's okay because they don't need it. Not really.

Power, strength, speed, immortality… It doesn't matter. Nothing is truly invincible.

All they need is one lucky shot. One chance.

(_Because they won't get a second one_.)

* * *

In the end it's easier than she expected it to be. There's a quick call—_speed dial_, Jere, _really_?—and an reluctantly muttered invitation. The conversation that follows is meaningless. Filled with lies, evasions and blunt truths she doesn't care to remember though the irony of _who_ lies and _who_ tells the truth burns on her tongue like tequila. A stinging sensation that lingers even after a fresh slice of lemon should have overshadowed the taste with a new wave of sweet bitterness.

There's a deal made that neither side is prepared to keep—or at least that's what she tells herself because the thought that she's the only one who's planning on committing betrayal tonight is just too much to handle—and then there's a fight, short, harsh and unforgiving like the last words exchanged between two brothers who love and hate each other in equal measures.

Perhaps it's a coincidence or simply luck but somehow her fingers close around the white oak stake hidden in the inside of Kol's jacket and it's all over before it's even started. Her mind struggles to catch up with her body's actions. The adrenalin rushing through her veins makes it hard to focus and the white wood feels so _unspectacular_ she's almost disappointed. Maybe it's all too easy and maybe that shouldn't take some of the value from her personal victory but it does.

There's no glory in this moment, no satisfaction in the fear she reads in his eyes, no elation of having managed the impossible. It's so _simple_. All it takes is one movement. No one's around to stop her or discourage her or threaten her. No one's telling her what to do and Elena smiles because it seems like forever since she has last felt this _free_.

She blinks and the scene hasn't changed. Kol's still screaming in pain from the vervain dripping down his face, Jeremy's still struggling to keep the trashing vampire still, her hand is still holding the fateful stake who's mere existence has changed the entire game.

Nothing has changed yet but time's running out and she has to make a decision. And it is only now that Elena realizes she hasn't made her choice—not yet—that she's hesitating. Not because of a misplaced sense of guilt or a false pretense of morals they've all abandoned a long time ago but simply because she_ can_.

On the clock on the counter another second ticks by. She meets Jeremy's dark gaze and reads something she doesn't dare to name in his eyes—an emotion that is mirrored in her own—and she chooses.

* * *

Her grip on the fateful stake tightens. She meets his gaze almost serenely and there's something in his expression that tells her he knows what she's going to do—something that looks like respect for her ruthlessness, buried under countless of other, less flattering emotions—and for perhaps the first time since she's met him Elena thinks they understand each other. It's bloody and fucked-up just like them.

She grins viciously and wrong—a twisted grimace fueled by a hate she doesn't feel—because she refuses to back down and reconsider now, no matter how much she's going to regret her actions in the days to come. No matter what the fall-out of this terrible mistake is going to cost her. She can't go back after this. None of them can. But that won't stop her and they both know it.

There is no room for mercy in their world—not anymore.

* * *

Four inches from the heart.

A taunting reminder of what could have been had her choice been a different one.

It's a insignificant victory that leaves her hollow and exhausted but it's all she has.

* * *

She doesn't do it out of the goodness of her own heart.

Maybe once upon a time she would have done that. Would have remembered this torn, dysfunctional family and the tears they wouldn't have cried over the loss of one of their own—not because they don't care but because they are too old now, too bitter, too broken to be mended ever again. Would have spared him for the sake of the family that once _was_ even if it never _will be_ again. She isn't sure when this knowledge stopped being enough to stay her hand and the realization breaks her just a little bit.

She doesn't do it for Elijah.

She likes him and she's too honest—too tired, really—to deny what everyone knows already. She can almost see Damon rolling his eyes, a scratching remark on the tip of his tongue and the brief flash of jealous rage they both pretend she doesn't notice but despite what her friends and enemies believe she has never liked him quite enough. Or maybe she did—once upon a time, in another life—but she doesn't anymore and it's the truth. She can't.

Because the man he is, the man she admires, has always picked his family above her, without hesitation, without regret, and he always will. She knows that, has always known it, because deep down they are too alike and it draws them to the other and keeps them apart all the same. She understands. She would—has—done the same. She never expected him to do anything different. But it still hurts. Being the second choice always does. And she can't deal with the growing resentment and the doubts and self-hate and the impending heartache that inevitably follows. She _won't_ and that is a promise.

She doesn't do it for all those nameless, faceless vampires who belong to Kol's bloodline either.

Elena doesn't condone genocide and she likes to think she never will. (Though that conviction isn't as unwavering as it once was—but then nothing is nowadays, not anymore) But if there's one thing Damon and Stefan and Katherine and Klaus have taught her it's that one way or another people die. It doesn't matter how careful you are, eventually you're gonna slip up. It doesn't matter how methodically you plan, something's gonna go wrong. Sometimes there's a collateral damage—meaningless death, wrong place, wrong time—and there's nothing you can do about it.

It's a hard lesson to learn and it takes loss after loss to accept. To learn to let go and move on because she has to deal with this deathtrap of a town somehow so she does. She hates and cries and rages and eventually the numbness spreads through her body like a slow-working poison and it gets better—not okay, not like before but better than now. Until one day the thought of murdering an unknown amount of vampires—good and evil, saint and murderer—isn't about guilt and blood and tears anymore it's about shortcuts and the easiest way and strategies. She sits on the kitchen table where she used to draw horses and towers and princesses and thinks of all the consequences her actions may bring. All the lives her decision is going to alter, the lives she's going to _end_. She waits for the horror and the self-disgust and it doesn't come.

She does it for herself.

For Elena Gilbert, the popular cheerleader with the gentle eyes who wanted nothing but an honest, passionate love and a happy, fulfilling human life. The girl who loved her family and friends so much she was ready to lay down her life for them, did die for them, and who's loss nearly destroyed her completely.

For that driven, giving girl willing to see the good in just about anyone. The girl that is now nothing but an ever fading memory, a virtual stranger she struggles to remember or identify herself with. She has lost that girl. Had it brutally ripped away from her one night not so long ago on a doomed bridge in a town fated to forever relive the past. Had been losing her for months now so gradually she barely even noticed. With every undried tear, every word left unsaid, every drop of needlessly spilled blood.

She hasn't been that girl for quite some time and maybe her inevitable death has simply forced everyone—herself included—to realize that. It's what has driven her to search for this one, magical cure that can't undo what she needs it to. To desperately seek an other way, an escape when there is none. Because she can't handle this loss—not the loss of the life she could have had but the loss of the life she _had_—but you can't turn back time, not really, not without sacrifices. Sacrifices the person she used to be, the person she needs to be again, would have never considered.

It is this painful realization that makes her hesitate in that one moment when life and death hang by a mere thread in her hand and there's really no room for hesitation. And somehow it changes everything.

One moment she reaches for that fateful white oak stake and the next she's already holding everything in her hands. The power, the control, the choice. All it takes is one quick movement to end this craziness once and for all—and kill approximately one fifth of the entire vampire population along with it. It would be so easy. So justifiable. And Elena is so tired of justifying the things she does, justifying _the way she is_.

She does it because deep down she knows she _wants_ to kill him. That's the woman she has become.

Ironically she does it for the girl she _was_.

* * *

She throws the white oak stake. A calculated, precise motion. For a moment true, unadulterated fear flashes across Kol's blackened eyes before pain and hate overwhelm everything else there is. Jeremy yells something, panic dripping from his voice. Words she hears with inhumane clarity but doesn't allow her brain to process. Her brother reaches for the stake buried painfully deep in Kol's chest somewhere too close to his still beating heart but not quite close enough and Elena doesn't think. She grabs Jeremy's shoulders and pulls him back too hard too fast unwilling to allow anyone else to make the choice for her. Never again.

Instead of turning around to check on her human brother like a part of her wants to do she forcefully pulls Kol back up and twists his arms around like Alaric taught her to do once, half a life time ago. In his weakened state her own supernatural strength is just enough to manhandle him towards the open front door and with one last, determined push she shoves him directly into the path of his fuming brother who catches him reflexively.

Silence hangs heavily in the air between them as they all try to process the unexpected turn this evening has taken. Klaus' eyes flicker over his brother's disheveled appearance. He takes in the rapidly healing vervain burns on his skin, the gleaming white stake only inches away from the heart it should have pierced. The two brothers exchange a look that conveys more than all apologies they will never voice ever could and Elena averts her gaze briefly, feeling like an intruder in the face of such intimacy. Kol relaxes under his brother's touch and she wonders for a moment if it's the knowledge that Klaus hasn't betrayed him or simply the closeness of an older sibling that causes it.

The moment passes long before she can decide on a final answer.

* * *

The Originals straighten suddenly, completely in tune with the other's movements and it's fascinating to watch even if it makes them all the more dangerous. Standing side by side as they are there is no denying that they are indeed brothers at heart and as Jeremy casually brushes his warm hand against hers in a silent gesture of comfort and question she thinks for the first time she can see a little of who the Mikaelsons used to be—who they are now, almost ten centuries later.

She meets their gazes—accusing, questioning, hateful, amused—unflinchingly.

"Keep your brother away from mine, Klaus" she pierces the silence with sharp, unapologetic words. "Because next time his life is threatened I won't miss."

It's a warning, an apology, an explanation. Mostly it's part of a charade she has been playing for months and she can't just abandon her role like that even though she can't seem to continue it either.

(_There won't be a next time, they all know she will never get another chance like this but they don't point it out and she refuses to acknowledge it because this is what they do_)

For a moment they simply regard each other, just the four of them, two pairs of siblings because right now, hidden away from sunlight and ugly pretenses, that's all they are. It's an understanding, a cease-fire, a peace offering and a declaration of war. A shared moment defined by lies and hidden agendas and she doesn't care how stupid and pointless it's going to look in the morning because right now the dawn is still several hours away. The darkness protects and swallows and consumes them and they _allow_ it and _it matters_.

Because whatever there was before this whole mess started—whatever _they_ were—they've lost it and they can't go back to that. And maybe what they have now isn't ideal, maybe it's all broken and sharp edges and cutting _deeper_ and _deeper_ but it's them and that's something they hold on to even if they don't understand it.

* * *

In the end they don't burn down her house. They don't force their way inside. They don't even cut off Jeremy's arms nor do they kill her.

They simply leave, walk down the road side by side, wordlessly, and for the first time they don't just look like brothers, they _are_ brothers. She fears them then—more than she ever has before—but she can't bring herself to regret her choice.

It's not how she's envisioned this night to end but it's an end she can live with—for however long they'll allow her to.

* * *

"You did the right thing" Jeremy tells her later, after the rage and the raving and the accusations have passed, when all that's left are meaningless explanations, resignation and bleeding memories of a better time. The unspoken '_for you_' is heard clearly by the both of them. But his hand is warm and heavy on her arm and she barely notices the way the sensation isn't as comforting as it used to be.

She doesn't look up, unable to meet his gaze, but her voice is almost even. "At what cost?" she asks him, a desolate whisper in the silent night.

Jeremy doesn't answer. And maybe there's really nothing left to say anymore.

* * *

**Part II**

It's easy to kill a human. There are so many ways to end a life it's almost ridiculous and most of them do not even require any supernatural ability. A blow to the head, a snapped neck, falling down the stairs, a simple accident. The possibilities are endless. In a town like Mystic Falls it is hard to forget how vulnerable humans really are. How easily a life can be taken, no reason, no justification.

Death is nothing new, not for any of them. It has been their constant companion in the last two years. Always watching from the shadows, patiently waiting to strike whenever he deems the time right. Funny fact about death: you don't get used to it. It's like physical pain, you can build up a certain (but truthfully very slight) tolerance up over time but it never really stops bothering you. You can learn to work through it, to move on and let go. You can cope, even dull the pain but you can't take it away completely. And no matter how much you distance yourself from the people around you, no matter how often you tell yourself differently, you are never truly prepared for another loss. Even if you've had the time to prepare yourself. Even if you've been expecting it.

A warning may take away the surprise but it won't take away the shock.

* * *

They don't get a warning of course. Or maybe they do. But in Elena's mind it doesn't really count because said warning comes far too late.

Still, it isn't entirely unexpected. They've all known the Originals were going to retaliate after the Gilbert's attempt to end one of their own. It has always been just a matter of _when_ and _how_ rather than _if_. So they've tried to prepare themselves although they are well-aware that there's nothing they can really do except wait, especially now that they have no way of getting their hands on the white oak stake. The Mikaelsons won't make the same mistake twice.

Bonnie is researching spells, Damon is teaching Jeremy and her how to fight and Matt is just trying to pretend everything is fine and time passes until they feel almost safe again even though they know they aren't.

It's a usual Tuesday afternoon when they get the warning or perhaps _message_ would be a more appropriate description and Elena is almost relieved because the Original's have finally made their move. There is no great fight, no blood and drawn out mind games just a short message delivered by one of Klaus' hybrids that Damon kills brutally long before anyone else has the time to process it.

Stefan's body _is_ the message.

* * *

Elena isn't sure why they are completely blind-sighted by the first attack. Perhaps they really have been lulled into a false sense of security after all, have thought Stefan untouchable for the twisted sense of companionship Klaus has once shared with him almost ninety years ago—and doesn't it sound ridiculous when you put it this way? Perhaps they have been naive—or hopeful—enough to expect torture and pain without ever actually daring to consider something as permanent and irrevocable as death.

Perhaps they've simply assumed that Jeremy or she would be the first target.

They _should_ be after all, shouldn't they? They've been the ones who launched the first attack after all. And yet somehow Elena later realizes that she's never really believed they would come after her or her brother. She can't explain why exactly so she never voices that particular thought out loud but as batty as it sounds it's almost like she _trusts_ them not to come after her, ever since that wordless understanding on her front porch she likes to pretend they've never reached.

And Jeremy doesn't say anything at all but he doesn't have to. She knows he feels the same way.

Later that day she cries herself to sleep in her brother's arms as he holds her tightly and neither of them talk about the number '1' artfully drawn over Stefan's chest where his heart used to be. Nor do they acknowledge that they have returned to their home—are still living here—in a house that is not as Original-safe as it once was.

* * *

They bury him in the forest, a small stone, a couple of flowers.

Damon doesn't come.

Everyone else does. They whisper their good-byes or don't say anything at all, just stare blankly at the pathetic make-shift grave like they still can't believe that this is really happening. Like they still expect to _wake-up_.

Finally they leave, one after another, until it's just her—and _him_, somewhere around but not close enough for her to call him out. She ignores the watching eyes in her back and allows the tears to fall freely. She can't let _him_ ruin this moment, can't let him keep her from grieving because he has no right to intrude into this. Not when he is the one who killed Stefan in the first place.

She returns that night and every night after, sometimes with Jeremy, mostly alone. There's Damon's scent lingering in the air and _his_ eyes observing her from afar and she pretends to be obvious about everything as she watches the flowers greying and slowly wilting away.

Caroline replaces them with fresh ones—beautiful blue forget-me-nots—eventually.

* * *

"I'm sorry for Stefan" Jeremy tells her a few days later. The thing is, he isn't. Not really. Sure he liked Stefan well enough but at the end of the day he is still a hunter and Stefan is still a vampire. Besides like it or not it were Stefan and Damon who first brought the supernatural back to Mystic Falls. Logically Jeremy knows there's no guarantee that Katherine or Klaus wouldn't have eventually come back and found out about Elena's existence anyway but after everything that's happened it's hard not to blame them.

Elena sends him a teary smile and leans her head on his shoulder. "It's okay" she says and _it's not_ but sitting next to him on their tattered couch like they did after their parents' died she believes for the first time that it will be. Eventually. That they'll get through this like they always do. Together.

Family comes first, she remembers Elijah telling her once and she understands his choice just a little bit better. Another memory flashes before her eyes, a clearer one of a time when Klaus tried to force her to choose between Jenna and Stefan and she refused to give him the satisfaction—and silently acknowledges that her reaction would have been a different one if it had been Jeremy in her aunt's place.

* * *

Stefan's death leaves its mark on all of them.

Damon is drowning his sorrow in alcohol like he usually does except his retorts are sharper and his eyes colder. Nobody comments on the disappearing girls or the bloody crime scenes or the fact that he just doesn't care about anything anymore because the truth is there's nothing any of them can do. Stefan was Damon's humanity, always has been, even if it's only now that they realize it.

Caroline continues on in the only way she knows how to, with chatter and bubbly laughter and distractions but there are moments when she falls quiet suddenly and her eyes grow distant and for a second she isn't the blonde cheerleader Elena has known all her life. She's a stranger wearing a familiar face. A blank façade held together by sheer will power alone. She doesn't go into the forest to hunt anymore but there are always blood bags to feed from so nobody makes a big deal out of it.

Matt doesn't say much about anything these days. He's just a little pale and a little jumpy. She wonders if he assumes he's next on Kol's list. She watches his glassy eyes gazing from one side of the Grill to the other in almost comical paranoia and wonders if Kol would do him a favor.

It's Bonnie's reaction that confuses her the most. Her witch friend has never been exactly approving of the Salvatores—to put it mildly—that a small, vindictive part of Elena had expected her to shrug her shoulders in a '_what else is new?_' kind of way and redirect the conversation towards another interesting ritual she's found in her grimoire. But that isn't who Bonnie is, that indifferent, unfeeling person with no regards for other beings and yet in the wake of Stefan's death it is the person she becomes. As her skin grows pale and the shadows under her eyes lengthen her magic becomes wilder and more malevolent with every passing day. And sometimes when she thinks there's nobody paying attention to her there's a darkness in Bonnie's kind, green eyes that scares her more than Damon's emotionless face or Kol's hateful expression ever have. Perhaps the others haven't noticed those warning signs—too preoccupied with their own grief—but more likely they just don't want to think about it. Don't want to face the possibility that maybe this time around their greatest enemy might be one of their own midst.

It's almost two weeks later when finally Elena realizes with startling clarity that she isn't really grieving. Not the right and healthy way anyway—she of all people would know. None of them are. Because there is no '_Do you remember when Stefan-?_' or even an '_I miss him so much_', it's all about '_What are we going to do now?_' and more importantly '_Who's gonna be next?_'. It's not that they've forgotten Stefan it's just that there's no time to mourn him when they are too busy worrying about those that are _still alive_. So thoughts about the younger Salvatore are pushed aside for now to be dealt with at a later date and the mere fact that she can do this, that she can go on and function even if her chest aches with every breath she takes tells her more than she cares to admit.

She has loved Stefan once, will always love him. But there's a small voice in the back of her head that tells her she's going to survive without him and that it's going to get better eventually and it scares her. It scares her that she's starting to believe it.

* * *

Jeremy's the one who discovers Tyler one day on his way back home from the Grill, whether by coincidence or deliberately they'll probably never know. He calls her immediately and something eases inside her chest even as her heart breaks for the boy she used to call a jerk since second grade and her best friend who's in love with him. Because Jeremy hasn't called Damon or Bonnie or whoever he usually calls when he has to deal with a body—she assumes it used to be Alaric but she doesn't really want to know—he's called _her_.

She doesn't know what to do with a body although she's seen her fair share of them and the fact that it is the body of a friend makes it so much worse but that doesn't stop her from racing to her car and breaking every speed limit there is to get to her brother as fast as possible.

They both try to stay calm and blink away the tears from their eyes—they have enough experience with traumatic situations after all—but in the end she's burying her face in his chest and he clings to her with all the strength he has. Neither comments on the small '2' carved into Tyler's flesh like a grotesque tattoo.

* * *

She doesn't go to the funeral. She's seen too many already and being the ex-Mayor's son it's bound to be some big, troublesome event her nerves can't handle. Instead she sits in her room with nothing but a small candle as a source of light and sips on her fourteenth glass of rum (_but who's counting?_).

Afterwards she holds Caroline as she cries and doesn't comment on Bonnie's notable absence.

* * *

"It's our fault" Jeremy notes almost flippantly as he steals her cup of coffee like he does every morning.

She opens her mouth and closes it again because she knows—she of all people _understands_—that nothing she says will make this situation better or easier for either of them. He's her brother after all and this is something she can't lie about. Not to him.

"I'm here" she offers weakly instead and it is as much of an admission as it is an assurance. He stares at her for a moment and then his lips twitch, a terrible imitation of a smile, and she uses the distraction to recapture her coffee because it's the only normalcy they have left.

* * *

They all are in the Boarding House—though 'all' now includes less people than it once did—under the pretense of creating a battle plan. Honestly, it feels more like they are just trying to hold on to each other for as long as there is still someone left standing.

It's quiet. Nobody seems to know what to say.

Elena sips on a blood bag and stares out of one of the big windows without actually seeing anything. The blood tastes stale on her tongue, her favorite flavor now bland and meaningless like so many other things. Unfazed she continues to drink.

There isn't much she cares about these days.

Surprisingly it's Damon who breaks the oppressive silence first.

"How many?" His voice sounds hoarse and it's only when he speaks that Elena realizes that she can't remember the last time she's heard him talk. She can't even remember the last time she's _tried_ to get him to talk. Her fingers around the blood bag tighten.

He doesn't add anything else but he doesn't need to. They all know what he's talking about. It's hard to forget the numbers after all. The count-down is always there somewhere in the back of their minds, reminding them that they're living on borrowed time. They are all doomed._ Dead people walking_ in every literal and figurative way there is. She chokes down a hysterical laugh. Maybe she's dealing better with the whole situation than she's supposed to or maybe she's finally gone off the deep end like they all secretly expect her to—maybe going insane is her only way of dealing at all.

The sound of tearing fabric snaps her out of her thoughts and she stares at the destroyed blood bag in her hands with detached interest. Her hands are covered in blood and she watches the thick liquid drop from her fingers with a foreign fascination. '_How fitting this image is_' she thinks fleetingly, caught in the repulsive beauty of the sight before her.

It's Jeremy who finally answers the question that has been weighting heavily on all their minds. His tone is even and confident, free of any doubt.

"Four" he says the number out loud that has been haunting the both of them ever since they've found the first body. Nobody questions him and Elena is thankful when they fall back into the heavy silence, all willfully ignorant of the blood still dripping from her hands.

There's another question. An unspoken '_Who's next?_' but nobody dares to voice it.

* * *

Monday evening finds her walking down the streets of her home town with no particular destination in mind. The crisp air soothes a pounding ache behind her temple and for just a moment she allows herself to forget everything. To simply walk and walk as far as her legs can carry her and not think of anything at all.

Perhaps it's a coincidence or perhaps he has knowingly sought her out but one moment the streets are abandoned and the next he's there, casually leaning against a lamp post like he just stepped out of your stereotypical High School romance movie. It's the first time she actually sees him since that fateful night she's tried to kill him and though a part of her considers that she might be his next victim Elena isn't afraid. She's so tired of living in fear.

He's wearing jeans and a white shirt, looking for all intents and purposes like your normal everyday teenager with his headphones on and his head bobbing slightly to a beat she can't hear and for a second she wishes it could be that simple. Just a boy and a girl running into each other at night, a quick smile, a flirty wink already forgotten by the time another day begins.

But there's no use in wishing for the impossible and as her too keen eyes pick up on the hardly visible blood stains on his collar she is once again forced to remember who he is—the fact that she isn't as disgusted by the display as she should be is a daunting reminder of who _she_ is.

He must have felt her gaze for his dark eyes are suddenly focused solely on her as his lips are drawn into a wicked smirk—it looks foreign on his boyish face and by _foreign_ she means fitting.

"Chicks these days" he drawls with an amused twinkle. "Always making a mess of things."

The modern day slang falls so easily from his lips she would have never believed that he has only lived in this century for less than a year and she thinks he's making a point even if she isn't completely sure what said point is. His words may be a veiled threat for all she knows but she pushes those thoughts away and decides not to read to much into any of this because her headache is already acting up again and she really can't handle any of this at all.

Giving her this chance, this one confrontation, must be a part of his plan. Perhaps he's curious what she's going to do to try and stop him, what she's going to tell him, what she's going to ask for. Forcefully Elena blinks the tears away because she knows what she'll do long before she's made up her mind. She's going to pick one life above everyone else—there's no question of _whom_—and it breaks her heart.

She asks because she can't take the chance and they both know it.

"Jeremy." Her brother's name slips past her lips without permission and it's only when the word echoes in her ears that she realizes it's a demand—except not. It's a request really, a desperate plea and she wonders how it has come to this. Her, alone with an Original, begging for her brother's life to be spared.

(_When has she stopped trying to save her friends?_)

He's in front of her before she can even blink, his fingers cupping her throat deceptively gentle, nothing but a slight squeeze. She draws in a shuddering breath but refuses to avert her eyes. It's a symbolic gesture and they both know it.

"Hush now" he says soothingly but the mocking smile belies his true feelings. "Jeremy-_Jeremy_ shall be safe."

He's smirking viciously and speaks slowly, intoning each word carefully as though he's filling the syllables with hidden meaning and she thinks it's as much a threat as it's a promise yet she can't contain the soft sigh of relief. Her eyes flutter close—in exhaustion, despondency, appreciation—and by the time she opens them again a second later Kol's gone like he was never there to begin with.

Out of the corner of her eyes she catches a movement, a familiar shape with black hair and she turns her head to watch him for a moment before he too disappears without a word. She has never wanted any of this. She never wanted to choose and she certainly never expected that this would be the choice she would have to make one day but she can't regret choosing Jeremy.

Absentmindedly she wonders what Damon was doing here. If he somehow knew that Kol would confront her. If the man who once loved her has come to save her or watch her die tonight.

* * *

They find Bonnie the next morning, a blood red '3' painted on the skin above her no longer beating heart.

* * *

Whiskey has never been her first choice of drink but after her fifth glass the world gets a little blurry so she supposes it does its job well enough. Somebody takes the seat to her left and Elena doesn't need to turn her head to know who it is because, _honestly_, she might be pretty drunk but she isn't _that_ drunk and his scent is unmistakable.

"Come to gloat?" she mutters, proud when her words are only a little slurred, and motions to the bartender who's name she's forgotten for another drink. At this point she isn't even entirely sure what she's drinking but it doesn't really matter. Blood, water, alcohol. It all blends together in an unidentified, grey mass of apathy.

She takes a huge gulp and welcomes the burning sensation that's trickling down her throat.

Kol tilts his head sideways and watches her almost curiously like she's a fascinating experiment of sorts. It should bother her and were the circumstances different it would but right now Elena is so far past caring it's not even funny.

"There's no need for me to point out how awesome I am, darling" he brushes her bitter question off like it's nothing and maybe it is. The amused spark in his eyes disappears suddenly and she's taken aback by the intensity of his gaze.

"You haven't turned it off, have you?" His unexpected inquiry startles her but she doesn't let herself dwell on it.

"Why, is that concern I hear, Mister Mikaelson?" she smirks playfully in her best Katherine impression because who says two can't play that game?

Except she isn't in the mood to play or to do anything at all and his gaze doesn't waver. "Have you?" he repeats and there's an undercurrent of dangerous impatience in his tone.

"No" she answers finally and it's the truth.

'_But I want to_.' The words are left unsaid and that's fine. They are a lie anyway.

"Good." His smirk is back again, all light-hearted and fun, the change so fast it makes her head spin. "Because I would hate for you to take all my fun away."

She doesn't bother to hide her disgusted eye-roll and takes another sip of her drink.

* * *

Damon barely looks at her anymore.

She doesn't blame him.

* * *

They're standing in front of Bonnie's grave. "I'm sorry" she chokes out between her sobs. She doesn't know whom she's apologizing to. Her brother who lost another girl he loved, her friend who lost first herself and then her life in a war she should have never been a part of to begin with or Damon and Caroline and all the others because this is her fault, these are the consequences her actions have led to.

Jeremy clutches her hand so hard she can feel a bone snap somewhere but she doesn't pull away. She can't. He's the only thing grounding her, the only thing keeping her here and she likes to think she does the same for him.

"I love you" he answers shakily, silent tears streaming down his face. "I love you."

It's not the '_I forgive you_' she's been hoping for but for now it's close enough.

* * *

"The deaths are pretty clean, you know" Jeremy tells her over her sad attempt at half-cooked spaghetti. There's guilt and pain in his dark eyes but his tone is clinical and if his hand wasn't trembling she might have believed that he truly doesn't care.

"What are you talking about?" She knows, of course she does, but she doesn't _want_ to.

Jeremy raises an eyebrow. "There's no blood, no torture, no unnecessary suffering. Just a stake straight through the heart. Not exactly Kol's usual style."

But that's just it, isn't it? It's not about bloodshed and terror and pain-filled screams. It's not about _revenge_. It's about _getting even_. Somehow the knowledge makes it worse instead of better.

* * *

It's Caroline who finds Damon two days later. They bury him next to Stefan like he would have wanted them to and Caroline brings fresh flowers—freesias this time—and Elena doesn't let go of Jeremy's hand all day.

There are no tears this time. Maybe they have known all along that it would end with Damon, that there would never be a world where one Salvatore lives and the other doesn't. Maybe they have no tears left to cry anymore when every cell of their bodies feels like it has been sucked dry, weak and brittle.

Maybe somewhere deep inside—under the self-disgust, the anguish and the sorrow—they're all just glad that it's finally over.

* * *

It's a full circle she supposes. She has deliberately missed his heart by four inches and every time he kills one of her closest friends he does the same albeit in a more symbolic way then she had expected him to.

It's a brutal blow, excruciating and inexcusable, but it's not crippling because she's not dead and Jeremy's still alive and they might be broken but they aren't _shattered_.

* * *

**Part III**

Life goes on. Eventually.

They've done this before. Seen death, dealt with loss and as impossible as it seems in the beginning after a couple of weeks to come to grips with what has happened they pick up where they left off. Like they always do.

* * *

Caroline leaves Mystic Falls and travels across Europe. She sends a postcard every once in a while.

Matt continues his job at the Grill. He gives her free drinks whenever she stops by but they never talk and that's perfectly fine.

Jeremy finishes school and starts filling out college applications. He dates a girl, Nala, who's completely obvious of the supernatural and she's sweet and helpful and the only reason he passes history.

Elena stays in town, unwilling to leave her brother behind—the only thing keeping her sane, almost _human_. With her the Originals stay too and it's impossible to avoid them forever but they get used to seeing them around every once in a while. They get used to the open spots where other people used to be and the void isn't exactly _filled_ but it's _covered_ like a horrid scar that will fade in time.

By now time is the only thing she has in abundance.

* * *

"Fuck you!"

"Careful with that mouth, darling. I might take it as an invitation."

It's the closest thing to an apology either of them is ever going to get.

* * *

She visits the graves once a month, Jeremy always by her side. They don't ever talk during those times, both aware that there's nothing they can say because nothing will ease the guilt they still feel although they are getting better at pretending they don't.

Yet sometimes she can't help but think that they are doing a little too okay. That they are dealing too well with the horror that is their life. Perhaps they have gotten used to the death of loved ones that follows them around like a curse. Perhaps their instincts as a vampire and hunter make it easier to move on, to detach themselves emotionally from the situation. Perhaps everything that went wrong in the last two years of their lives has simply damaged them, _emotionally, psychologically_, until they have lost that part that made them care.

Of course then there's also the fact that they still live in their old childhood home, a house that is freely accessible to at least two Originals and the fact that Jeremy still has Kol's number on speed dial—it's number four actually and isn't that ironic?—and the fact that Elena never turns around and leaves when he sits down next to her at the Grill—but they don't talk about that.

* * *

"You hate me."

It's not a question. He doesn't bother to deny it.

She mindlessly pushes her glass from one side of the table to the other.

"So why didn't you kill me? Or Jere?"

It's the one thing she doesn't understand. The one thing that doesn't make sense.

He leans forward suddenly—impossible close—and catches her eyes with his, rooting her to the spot. His fingers trail over her features with a gentleness she didn't know he is capable of and she feels herself trembling under his touch.

"Because, _Elena_" he murmurs softly, cradling her face almost lovingly. "Do you know how rare it is to truly hate someone?"

Something flickers in his eyes, a bottomless darkness she has never seen before and it scares her almost as much as it entices her. She aches into his touch then—unable to escape, _unwilling_ to escape—because he has never looked more handsome, more passionate, more _alive_ and she gets it.

She gets why he has no interest in killing her, why he keeps turning up wherever she is, why he always watches her with an intensity she has never seen on him before—and it sounds like one of those stupid love stories Jenna used to love but it's not. It's real and dark and _more_.

She gets it because through the emptiness of her friends' deaths and the comforting warmth of her brother's endless love and support it is her burning hatred for the man in front of her that consumes her wholeheartedly, that rushes through her veins like the most potent blood and makes her _feel_.

"I wouldn't know" she forces herself to brush his touch off. "Of all things possible hate isn't something my life is lacking."

She sends him a smile, _polite and disinterested_, and watches the flames in his eyes burn brighter than she has ever seen. Their heat seems to melt her skin and it hurts and it's _glorious_.

* * *

That night she is left pondering whether he hates her because she came so close to ending his existence or because she didn't go through with it.

In the end she never asks and in her heart she knows it's not because she fears his reaction but his answer.

* * *

The next time she runs into Kol it's past midnight and he has just finished draining his latest victim.

He's looking at her with his trademark smirk, an arrogant comment already on his lips no doubt, but she doesn't give him the chance to mock her or provoke her or remind her of the things he's done—because how could she ever forget?—and instead she slams her mouth on his in a violent kiss that has nothing to do with _love_ and everything to do with feeling _anything_ at all.

There's a sharp, ugly sound when his hands rip her favorite blouse apart, the tantalizing smell of fresh blood heavily in the air, dangerous hisses from him as her nails break his skin with more strength than necessary. There's the sensation of a hard brick wall being pressed into her back and naked skin against naked skin, evoking an insatiable fire that burns too hot, too bright to be ever fully extinguished.

It's bloody and punishing and unforgiving and she's _alive_.

(_She likes to think it doesn't matter that the girl he's killed is Jeremy's ex-girlfriend who cheated on him just the other day and that she can still taste her blood on his tongue_)

* * *

She leaves rapidly fading marks everywhere she can, burns him wherever they touch.

He doesn't draw any blood, his every touch unbelievable gentle like a brush of fresh air rekindling the flames.

* * *

He shows up on family night one Friday evening—with pizza because it's no secret that Elena can't cook to save her life. They talk about school and colleges and baseball, things of no consequence and he makes fun of her for not appreciating fresh meals enough when she takes out a blood bag.

She counters that they live in a time where take-away isn't just present but very common and Jeremy chokes on his soda but the grin on his face is almost genuine.

Eventually Kol leaves, complaining about Elijah and the fact that being a thousand years old really should excuse him from a god damn curfew, leaving the Gilbert siblings to do the dish washing in contemplative silence.

Jeremy doesn't comment on the unexpected guest at all but the following Friday he puts three plates on the table and that's that.

* * *

He tells her Bonnie's blood tasted delicious.

She bites his lip until it's raw and swollen and there's red everywhere.

He taunts her with how easy it was to kill the pathetic Salvatores.

She leaves finger-shaped bruises all over his throat.

He mocks her for mourning the hybrid boy.

She presses her nails into his scalp until he can't contain a pained groan any longer.

* * *

Sometimes she still doesn't know why she didn't kill Kol when she had the chance or why he didn't rip her heart out to send a message. All she knows is it wasn't mercy. Surviving never really is.

**The End**

* * *

Yeah, this is me being a tiny little bit (aka majorly) pissed off because they dared to kill Kol. I'm still coping with my hate towards the Gilberts for that one but oh well. Also do not misunderstand the last sentence: Life is a gift. It's extended circumstances that have formed Elena's opinion and considering she isn't truly alive anymore and most of her friends were killed by the man she's with now I suppose she gets to think like that.

Anyway enjoy your day and have a nice week!

Love, Schlange


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